


A Red Ribbon Running Through

by halsinator



Series: a species of revolution [3]
Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (TV), Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: M/M, Magic, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-08
Updated: 2015-09-08
Packaged: 2018-04-19 20:17:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4759592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halsinator/pseuds/halsinator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Segundus and Childermass explore each other's fantasies, with varying effects.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Red Ribbon Running Through

**Author's Note:**

> AS REQUESTED.

The spell was one of Segundus's own devising. He was not by nature a spell-maker. He had little imagination, he privately thought; and he was quite content to perform the spells that others devised. Indeed he was more than content— he was continuously delighted by the performance of such spells! He had never lost some hint of instinctive trepidation that magic might not work, and was as surprised each time it did as if the entirety of its revival had happened all over. For him, this was both exciting and fulfilling, so much so that he did not feel a particular need to create new spells.

But Childermass had asked him. And Childermass had asked him not in a _professional_ capacity— not to provide spells for his wretched Black-and-White Rose, the magical court which Segundus supported in theory, but in practice resented because it took up a great deal of Childermass's time— but in a _private_ capacity, which is to say in a bedroom capacity. Segundus was not very practised at denying Childermass anything in the bedroom. He had grown used to enjoying everything for which Childermass asked. He was, he reflected, rather spoiled in this regard, though he certainly did not mind it.

So though he was somewhat nervous about the idea of constructing his own spell— not only that, but showing his spellwork to Childermass who was a much more learned and practical magician than Segundus in almost every regard— and equally nervous about the prospect of what the spell would reveal, and how Childermass might react to it, he had set about diligently creating the spell that Childermass had suggested.

"It is a spell that allows a person to see the other's fantasies," he explained to Childermass, aware that he was turning the approximate shade of a tomato. He forged on. "I do not say enter, for the subject does not become a participant in the fantasy, but he may enter into the fantasy as one enters into a room. To watch, nothing more."

Childermass was gazing at him in fascinated, mute amusement. He said, "I have never seen a man turn so red."

"You have certainly seen me turn so red before; I am acquainted with all of my shades of redness," Segundus said, exasperated. "—No; how dare you laugh at me; it is a physiological process! I cannot help the matter! At any rate, that is why we need the spell, so I will not be—"

"Crimson?" Childermass suggested. "Garnet? Vermilion? Carmine?"

"I am considering expelling you from the bedroom."

They were, in fact, lying atop the bed, though fully clothed— not their usual practice, since the mere availability of a bed often seemed to act as a magnet upon them, compelling them to become both undressed and entangled. Childermass had been at Starecross for more than a week now, claiming the excuse of the holidays, and they seemed to have finally sated themselves to such a point that they could retire to their room in the evening without immediately commencing a long series of coital activities. It was rather nice, Segundus had discovered, to idle about together in privacy and comfort, reading or talking quietly of this and that. He valued Childermass's opinion on a great range of topics, from magical affairs to matters of pedagogy to (more delicately) how Starecross might equitably treat its servants, and though he could not think that his own opinion was anything like so useful, he was always happy to offer it.

The discussion at hand, however, seemed likely to turn them in a less chaste direction.

"No," Childermass said thoughtfully, "you are correct. It is a quite pleasing cherry colour. It makes me want to lick you."

Segundus frowned repressively at him. "I am not the only one who is unable to speak of these matters!"

"That is true," Childermass admitted, unruffled. "But I do not turn red."

No: he endeavoured never to showcase any want at all, so that Segundus was left puzzling his desires out of him in the same way that naturalists hunted birds in the tropics: staring fixedly at every leaf and twig, reading movement by the merest rustle. It was not a very satisfactory situation. But Segundus did not say this. Instead he said, "Well, we shall see about that. For I must tell you that the spell is dual in nature, not merely reciprocal. That is— I must be there with you. And—"

"And vice versa," Childermass finished. He looked less amused than before. "It is not a structural necessity of such spells. You could have done it without. So why did you... ?"

Segundus hesitated. "It is very difficult to define what is meant by fantasy. I do not know what the spell may grant in the way of access. Either subject might wander a good deal in the other's mind. As for myself, I am not so concerned. But I thought perhaps you might be."

Childermass's expression was, as usual, hard to read. He looked perhaps a little wary, as though he expected that he were about to be punished for something, or at the very least subjected to an unpleasant experience he wished to avoid.

"Well," Segundus said, "I was not wrong, was I?"

"Does it bother you?" Childermass asked. He did not quite look at Segundus. He had directed his head a little away.

"Should it?" Segundus was not really expecting an answer. He considered that Childermass was proposing to allow him entry to his private fantasies, which would have been a considerable amount of intimacy even for a man who was not so secretive as Childermass. He was not yet wholly convinced that Childermass would desire to proceed with the spell, but it still showed a very significant amount of trust. "It does not," he said at last. "I am content that you should guide me, and tell me where I may go or not."

Some of the wariness faded from Childermass's face. It was a subtle effect, but present. He seemed to think for a moment. "All right," he said. "I suppose it is only fair, since you are giving me what I want."

"You sound very grudging for a man who is being invited to witness his lover's deepest and darkest desires," Segundus pointed out rather archly.

Childermass made a face. "You have no dark desires," he said. "At least, I hope not, for I have none to offer you. However I suppose I may yet be surprised. I am willing to be. Shall you go first, or will you make me do it?"

"I am not going to make you do anything if you phrase it like that," Segundus said. He toed with a bare foot teasingly at Childermass's leg until the other man reluctantly smiled. "However, I am prepared to show you what you wish to see, if you are..." He could not think of the right word.

Now Childermass smiled less reluctantly, but slowly and with a certain lazy heat behind it. "Oh, I am very eager to pursue your half of this bargain," he said. "Instruct me in what you would have me do."

So Segundus laid out the architecture of the spell. It was largely reconstructed from an account of a spell in a fourteenth century French diplomatic history. The French ambassador to England recorded hearing of a piece of magic called "Saint Dioscurye's Tower" that wrought just such an effect as Segundus desired. By piecing together various references to this spell, and by adding some scaffolding here and there, Segundus felt he had put together a very creditable bit of work.

"But," he said to Childermass, "it is, after all, experimental, and I am a very poor creator, so you must assist me if we encounter complications."

Childermass frowned at him, perhaps intending to object to this self-deprecation. Before he could offer any comment, however, Segundus took his hand and began to wind a red ribbon around it. "You are tying me up," Childermass observed. "Has the fantasy begun already?"

"Hush," Segundus said. "Now you do the same for me."

So Childermass took the other end of the red ribbon and wove it about Segundus's hand, until they were quite bound together.

Segundus performed the necessary incantation, which was in a very ornate Middle English and involved a large number of pledges to various winds and wildflowers. He had a sense suddenly that all the windows had come open, but instead of the snow and the frosty air, a gust of summer had come in: golden and warm and drowsy and pleasant. May, he thought, the exact scent of May, when bluebells flowered amongst thimbleweed and rattles, soft carpets in the cool shade of the trees. "Oh," he said in a very dazed voice, "I did not expect it to be so..." Lovely, he meant to say, but he was asleep before the word escaped his lips, and all at once the spell began.

* * *

Segundus had known that the spell would create a sort of edifice for him, a place in which to house his fantasies so that they might be navigated in a straightforward, reasonable manner. He had not given much thought to how such a place might look. He had rather assumed it might look like Starecross— or else a more generic house-shaped sort of place. After all, he did not possess a great deal of imagination.

He was surprised, therefore, to find himself upon the doorstep of the most ornate and whimsical house he had ever seen. It had a Tudor look, but an almost fairy-tale feeling. Various parts of it were painted gold, sky-blue, and pale green, and stretched up towards a mishmash of rickety steeples. He was quite surprised that it did not collapse, as it seemed to have been assembled in quite a haphazard fashion. Over there, to the left, was a flying buttress leading off into a Mediaeval cathedral-like bit, with Gothic flourishes and a number of cheeky gargoyles; to the right, however, an entire wing of the house had a plain square Middle European appearance, and was painted with scenes from the Raven King's life bordering all the windows. Yet the towers atop this wing, which seemed to grow directly out of one another, seemed to date from entirely another place and century— or possibly no real place at all, given their extraordinary variety of odd windows and ornamentations, but rather the illustrations from a children's book. The overall effect was that of a house that had developed an enormous number of enthusiasms and pursued with them with little consistency but a great deal of excitement.

"Well," said Childermass from behind him. " _What_ an assemblage."

Segundus could feel himself turning red once again. "I do not know where it has come from," he said helplessly.

"Do you not?" Childermass was looking at him with a certain amount of fondness.

"I have never imagined such a species of place in all my life!"

"And yet it is you," Childermass said. He rested his arm lightly around Segundus's shoulder. "Were you really not aware of it?"

Segundus shook his head mutely. The comment made him quite amazed. He felt very shy all at once, and strangely exposed— as though some part of him had been stripped away, a layer of clothing that he had not known he wore. He felt very nervous about Childermass seeing him thus. His instinct was to run and hide away. "It is a very odd feeling," he said in a small voice. "Almost as though you can see through my skin."

"I will not do you any damage," Childermass said. He was still gazing at Segundus in that gentle, fond way, as if he had seen him for the first time all over again.

"I know," Segundus said. He took a deep, strengthening breath. "All right. I suppose we may as well enter."

They entered through a pair of laughably baroque doors, which had inexplicable small gilt fish carved all over them. Segundus had imagined that they might have to traverse a grand hall of some sort— he dreaded to think what it would be like, after seeing the gilt fish— in order to reach the rooms that held his fantasies. But in fact he was not allowed such an interval to prepare himself, for the first thing that confronted him and Childermass was a large square Tudor staircase upon which a dream-Segundus and a dream-Childermass were energetically engaged in removing one another's clothes.

"Oh, no," Segundus said. He ducked his head, his cheeks burning. He felt Childermass tremble with laughter at his back.

Dream-Childermass, having got the waistcoat and breeches off both of them, was shoving Dream-Segundus up against a wall and grinding their hips together in a very purposeful fashion.

"Not on the stairs!" Dream-Segundus said in what Segundus felt was a very realistic fashion. He did not appear to be overly invested in his protest, however; his hands were digging into Dream-Childermass's back, and he was turning his head to the side, panting slightly, to allow Dream-Childermass access to his throat.

"Yes on the stairs," Dream-Childermass said— also in a very realistic fashion, Segundus thought with a touch of resignation. "I am not waiting to have you."

He hiked Dream-Segundus up against the wall, holding him in such a manner that Dream-Segundus was forced to hook his legs around his waist. Neither of them had bothered to undress any further; they were still clad in their shirts and stockings. This being the case, Segundus could not wholly see where Dream-Childermass appeared to be shoving his fingers in and out of Dream-Segundus, who was squirming and moaning and raking his hands through Dream-Childermass's hair.

"Oh!" Dream-Segundus gasped. "I can't— I can't— it's too much!"

"You can," Dream-Childermass said, and then he shifted, and Segundus _could_ see where Dream-Childermass lined up his cock and pushed it without any warning into Dream-Segundus, who cried out, his hands clenching and unclenching in little spasms. Segundus could see every inch of that cock go in, slowly and mercilessly as (how strange!) his own body stretched to accommodate it. It was an exceptionally filthy sight— Dream-Childermass groaning and burying his head at Dream-Segundus's shoulder, making wet noises where he sucked against the skin, as his buttocks tensed over and over in time with his forceful thrusts, as he drove more and more of himself deep into Dream-Segundus, fucking him hard up into the stair-wall, making him shout and screw his eyes shut and say, "Yes, yes, harder, yes—!"

It looked very uncomfortable. But it had also undeniably caused the actual Segundus's cock to become very erect.

"Hmm," Childermass said, and draped himself over Segundus's back to mouth, in a mirror of his dream-counterpart, at Segundus's neck. Segundus could feel that he too was aroused. "Someone's got a very dirty imagination. Look how rough you want it." He bit at Segundus's earlobe gently.

Segundus shivered. "It is not—" he started to protest. "It is that— you want me so _much_."

"Mm," Childermass agreed. "Generally."

"No, I mean— so much that you cannot manage to hold back."

And indeed, Dream-Childermass was panting out something of this nature, even as he pounded himself into Dream-Segundus. "You drive me mad; Christ, I want to get so deep inside you, you're so good, so good— oh God, I can't, I'm going to—"

"I would not say that," Childermass remarked disapprovingly, pausing in his molestation of Segundus's jawline.

"Shush," Segundus said, swatting at him.

Dream-Childermass was in the throes of orgasm, leaning heavily into Dream-Segundus, shoved right up against him. Dream-Segundus had a hand squeezed between them and was jerking himself hard and rapidly, making a number of very loud lewd sounds. When Dream-Childermass shifted, apparently intending to remove himself, Dream-Segundus said breathlessly, "Don't you dare move!" and did something that made Dream-Childermass suck in a sharp breath. Dream-Segundus finished a moment later, crying out and arching himself against the wall, pushing his hips forwards against Dream-Childermass.

"Bossy," Childermass observed.

"I do not believe dream-you minds it," Segundus pointed out.

Indeed, Dream-Childermass most certainly did not mind. He was kissing Dream-Segundus with intense and messy fervour. He seemed like he might be interested in going again.

Childermass rolled his eyes. "Of course he does not mind; you have invented him for your pleasure."

"You like it when I am bossy as well; you are fooling no one," Segundus said.

To which Childermass grumbled against his shoulder and pushed him towards the staircase. Dream-Segundus and Dream-Childermass had quietly vanished from it, and the upper floors of the house were now visible. Doors lined their halls: doors of all shapes and sizes, as haphazard as the exterior of the house. Some appeared to be made of stained glass. One seemed to be woven from flowers. Some stretched to impossible heights, while others were so small and round that it seemed one would have to crawl to fit through them.

Childermass laughed quietly as they passed a door that was shaped like an enormous and rather comical raven, and approached one that was door-shaped, but made out of blue-and-white mint-smelling ice.

"How dare you laugh at me, sir," Segundus said in mock-offense, elbowing him sharply.

Childermass planted a uncharacteristic and sloppy kiss on his cheek. He said, "You do not know how delightful I find you."

Segundus rather suspected that the dream-world was making Childermass sentimental, and causing his affections to turn warmer than they might otherwise have been. But he could not deny that the remark made him feel giddily foolish, or that he had to duck his head to hide a very slight blush.

"Sea-thrift," Childermass said.

"What?"

"The colour of pink you are turning. Like the flower."

Segundus made an exasperated noise and, just for that, gently elbowed him again.


End file.
